


Closure

by mommyisageek



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mommyisageek/pseuds/mommyisageek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the moves on, she just needs a moment to say good-bye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closure

She stays with him a short time, a week, maybe two (time goes a bit wonky and confusing when you spend it jumping all over the place) but she can very quickly see she is doing more harm than the small good she might possibly be doing by keeping him from being alone. She is nothing but a reminder of them. Even if she is his wife, even if they love each other beyond measure, how can she ever be anything at all but a reminder of what is gone, what is lost? They are, and always will be, undeniably linked.

So she stands there one time, outside the doors. He realizes she isn’t with him, turns back and, seeing her face, squares up his shoulders.

“Is it really that time already, River?” His face is a mask, giving nothing away, but already there is a knot growing in her throat.

“You know it is, Sweetie.” She manages, somehow, to keep her voice from breaking and giving her away.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He just nods. He is being nice. He will not ask her to stay. While she knows, for both of them, she shouldn’t, she would find it near impossible to say no.

“Alright then.” He clears his throat. “Stay safe.”

“You too. Don’t be alone. It’s not good for you.” He nods. She turns away, begins to walk away. After a few short moments, she hears the very familiar sound of the wonderful box disappearing. She stops, laughs, shakes her head.

“You left the brakes on, love.”

Before she knows it, the sound is gone. She knows, should she turn around, the box would be gone. He would be gone. She really can’t hope she will get to see him again.

She closes her eyes for just a moment but keeps walking and never turns around.

\----------

She sends herself back to the familiar street, at a time she knows they are already gone. Stands before the door for quite a few long moments, just watching. Willing a curtain to move, the door to open, a sound, any sound, from inside. Anything. Anything at all to show that somehow, beyond any possibility, they were there.

The house is silent and still. It hasn’t yet been long enough for Brian to realize there is something drastically wrong, not yet, but soon, he will. The house will be sold and her one remaining link to her parents will be gone completely.

She closes her eyes very tightly for just a moment.

She finds a spare key, her key, that they left in a certain corner of a certain flowerbox, and simply lets herself in, closing the door behind her.

She can still smell them, right here. That Petrichor perfume her mother spoksed for and adored – and wore. Whiffs of coffee and subtle aftershave. A very slight antiseptic smell her father always brought home with him from the hospital.

The house smells like them. Like the Ponds.

She touches the wedding photo that hangs just inside the door, the both of them so incredibly happy. The same day…

She laughs to herself. Time travel does such interesting work on such things as conventional timelines and “conception” and “birth dates”.

She takes her time. Wanders room to room, trailing her hand along the familiar objects. In a way, this is as much home as anywhere else, for her. She may have never lived here, but they did, and, in a way, where they were, she was always “home”.

It happens that way with parents. Even ones forced into absenteeism. Or raising you as a child helping their best friend.

Time. It’s always a rather confusing devil.

And then, when she climbs the stairs and reaches their bedroom, her heart stops for a moment and she forgets to breathe.

On the wall opposite their bed, there is a photograph of her. A photograph of River Song.

If she took the time to look through Amy’s albums, she would find plenty of snapshots of Melody, their best friend. That would never have surprised her; she would have, of course, expected a girl to keep memories of her best friend as they grew up.

But this…

She sits, hard, on the end of the bed, trying to place it.

Fatigues. The uniform of Dr. Song. So, after Stormcage, obviously. She looks closer, realizes that the dark background is trees. The focus is slightly fuzzy. She sees the edge of a wine glass.

And, suddenly, she remembers.

That night she came to see Mother, to try to cheer her up. After those horrid angels in the Byzantium. To tell Mother the truth.

The night Father came home to find her and Amy laughing and dancing in the backyard.

The night the Doctor, their precious Doctor, was still alive.

In the excited confusion, she hadn’t realized he had a camera, or even, maybe, just his phone. She doesn’t care.

All that matters, all that matters, is that her parents have a picture of her. In their room.

Her face falls to her hands, breath catching in sobs. Somehow, beyond all odds, Amy Pond and Rory Williams had loved her. They had loved their daughter, time shifts, craziness, and all.

She cries. Bitterly. Possibly for minutes, possibly for hours. At the moment, she doesn’t care. Since that horrible day in the graveyard, she hasn’t had a moment to grieve.

She was doing as her mother directed, being “a good girl” and taking care of their Doctor.

But he doesn’t need her anymore. He needs someone else. She just hopes he finds them.

And now, before it’s too late and she simply can’t anymore, it’s her turn. To grieve. To say good-bye. To mourn the only parents she ever really knew.

Oh, somewhere in her mind she knows, knows, they’re out there, together, somewhere. She’s certain they’re happy. Safe. They lived long lives. Amy did amazing things. Rory, she’s absolutely certain, saved lives. It’s what he does.

But without her. Beyond her. Where she cannot reach them.

Lost to her. And, here and now, gone.

“I loved you,” she whispers to the empty room. “Whether you know or knew it, I love you both.”

Whispers in the air. Memories, vague, but there.

And she knows. Somewhere, somehow, she knows. Maybe she’s always known.

They loved her too.

She gives herself a few more moments. Breathing in their scent, taking in the room. Her eyes fall on Amy’s dressing table. ‘No one will miss is…’ she thinks to herself.

Slowly, she slips the half-full bottle of Petrichor into her pocket. Moves to the counter by the sink and pockets the small bottle of aftershave.

No one will miss it.

She makes her way downstairs, eyes sliding over the photographs on the wall. She stops, middle of the stairs.

Them, younger. Amy in a Police uniform, Rory…a Roman. 

Her father. The Last Centurion.

She takes the frame from the wall, slides it into her coat pocket with the bottles. No one should miss these. Who would begrudge her a few small mementos of her parents?

She finishes the stairs, crosses the hallway, pauses at the door to take one last look around. Closes her eyes, breathes in deeply one more time.

“Good-bye…” she whispers, opens the door, locks it behind her, and never looks back.


End file.
